Weakness
by Anya Urameshi
Summary: Take care of him, please." He didn't have to say who "him" was, Mammon could tell by the look in the boy's eyes that Fran understood. "I will," the child promised. "Even though he won't want me to." MammonBelphegorFran Not cannon compliant.


A/N: My little take on how Fran became part of the top seven in the Varia.

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Mammon hated weakness.

Weakness gave others power. It allowed them to manipulate you in ways that you didn't want. They could blackmail and bribe you and force you to their bidding.

Mammon gripped his hand tighter into his stomach as he entered the kitchen.

Most people worried about their enemies discovering their weakness and finding some way to use it against them, but Mammon knew better. It was always your "friends" that betrayed you. That one person in the world you trusted above others. You told them all of your secrets, all of your fears, and then suddenly you were the one being thrown to the wolves.

Blood soaked through his shirt, but the fabric was dark enough that you couldn't really tell. Even so, Mammon knew he would have to get up to his room before Belphegor saw him.

Mammon hated weakness. Friends made you weak. Mammon hated friends.

"Stupid....idiot...." he grumbled. "Why did you....?"

"Sensei?"

Mammon started violently at the voice off to his right and jerked around to face the source; a young boy with light blond hair and grey eyes. He was wearing the uniform of a cadet officer and was sitting on a barstool in an out of the way corner....eating ice cream?

"What are you doing here?" Mammon demanded, wondering how he had not noticed the child before. By the armband on his left forearm, Mammon knew the boy was one of his operatives, but frankly he had never really taken the time to memorize any of their faces, let alone names. They would all just die anyways.

"I was eating," the boy stated bluntly, gesturing towards the open carton with his spoon. "You're bleeding all over the linoleum."

"Shit," Mammon cussed, glancing down to see that the child was, in fact, correct in this assessment. Bel was going to go psycho on his ass if he didn't find some way to clean this up.

"I can do it." Mammon's attention was once again directed to the boy, who was heaving a suffering sigh as he stuck his spoon in the carton forlornly before jumping off the stool to hunt for paper towels.

"You'll have to bleach the whole damn floor," Mammon muttered, watching the child as he hunted through the lower cabinets. Finding nothing there, the boy then proceeded to hoist himself up onto the counter in order to search the higher ones.

"You should get that looked at," the boy replied, not even glancing at him. "It's going to get really infected if you don't, and you're already suffering from that....that..." he paused and turned slightly. "Um..." he fluttered his hands around like he was trying to figure something out. "That tri-something." He made a triangle out of his fingers before turning back to the cabinets.

"Trisetta," Mammon corrected, wincing as he shifted to his other foot. A thought occurred to him suddenly. "Wait...how do you know about that? It's authorized information."

"Bel-sempai was talking about it," the boy replied blithely, extracting a huge roll of paper towels from one of the shelves before leaping nimbly to the ground. Mammon started slightly as he realized he hadn't heard the boy land.

"To you?" he asked, in an effort to hide his discomfort at the wound in his gut and the boy currently eying the steadily forming pile of blood distastefully.

"No, he hates me for some reason," the boy replied, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose. "Which is fine, because I don't like that jerk either...."

Something in his voice told Mammon that the boy was lying, but he didn't question him. Instead, he reached out to accept the towel that he proffered in order to use it as a sort of compress so he wouldn't bleed out on anything, or anyone, else.

The boy gave him a deadpan look. "So...should I follow along behind to clean up the trail, or are you prepared to deal with the prince's blood lust?"

"I'm used to it," Mammon replied, taking a step forward and almost passing out as a wave of dizziness hit him. The room started spinning like crazy and it was all he could do not to reach out and use the child as a support.

"I don't think you're going to make it..." the boy was saying, his face swam in Mammon's vision, and for a moment, he thought he was seeing a younger version of himself.

Then he thought he was seeing Bel, and that was when Mammon realized that maybe he really was dying, just like that bastard kid in the witch-getup had taunted him. Right after he had killed-

"Here, let me help you," the boy stated in a tone that told Mammon he really had no choice in the matter as the child propped himself under the arm on Mammon's less injured side and wrapped one of his arms around his waist in order to keep him from falling over. "This would be so much easier if you were still in your cursed form..." he muttered and silently, Mammon agreed. Things had been so much easier in his cursed form.

"What about the blood?" Mammon muttered almost tom himself, glancing blearily back at the puddle.

"I think by this point, it is moot," the child replied. "Sempai will have already smelled it and is probably on his way to rip us to shreds as we speak."

Mammon liked how bland the kid had sounded while saying that. Like he didn't really give a crap that he was possibly going to die a violent death at the hands of a crazy psychopathic knife-weilder and was probably more concerned about having to clean up the mess, should he be spared.

"Hey, kid," Mammon started, wondering if he was doing the right thing, then damning himself in the next sentence because he had never been one to question his choices before. Questioning yourself was a sign of weakness, and Mammon hated being weak. "What's your name?"

Somehow, he knew the child was smiling, amused by the fact that one of the seven highest officers of the Varia wanted to know what his name was. Somewhere deep inside, Mammon was a little amused too, but he was more pained then anything. Pain trumped almost everything else in his mind.

"It's Fran, Mammon-sensei," the boy replied.

"What rank are you, Fran?"

"2nd division sir."

Mammon nodded slightly. This kid was one of the higher ranks, that certainly made this little harebrained scheme seem just a little less crazy. "How would you like to be a squad leader, Fran?"

There was a small pause. "You're not going to die, sir," Fran replied, voice shaking slightly. "And even if you do, I can't-"

"Can't or won't?" Mammon replied. The boy was silent for a few steps.

"Why are you asking me?" he finally asked, resignation in his voice that told Mammon all he needed to know. The archaebaleno of mist smiled slightly.

"Because you're probably the last person I'm going to see before I die," Mammon replied. (If I'm lucky,) he added in his head. "And so I want to make sure that I will be the one to choose my successor and not that pigheaded asshole boss of ours." He paused, wincing as Fran began to help him into an elevator. "Plus...you seem to dislike that idiot prince as much as I do."

Fran made a small sound that might have been a cough but was probably a disguised laugh. Mammon was familiar with those.

"How good are you with illusions?" Mammon finally asked. He felt Fran shift.

"Passably good, I'm told," the child replied. Mammon nodded in acceptance. Passably good would have to do.

"Can you hold your own in a fight?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any patience."

"Depends on the person I'm having to be patient with."

Mammon chuckled. "Yes, it does."

The elevator dinged and when the doors swished open, Fran helped Mammon out into the hallway, checking both ways to make sure nobody was coming. They then started down it.

"Stop here," Mammon ordered when they finally reached his room. He entered the password, somehow knowing that this would be the last time he would be able to do that. The door swished open and Fran helped him over to his bed.

"Do you want me to get somebody, sir?" Fran inquired. Mammon shook his head.

"It'll do know good," he replied, lifting the rag from his wound. It was completely soaked through with his blood. "Not even Lussuria could heal this. The poison is too far along."

"Sensei..." the boy glanced down at the wound, biting his lip. "Why did you....come back here?"

Instead of answering, Mammon lifted his bloody hand so that Fran could see the ring on it. "This is a Hell Ring," he told the boy. "You know what that is, right?"

Fran nodded. "One of the cursed Mist rings. They're said to drive whoever holds them to insanity."

"Well," Mammon replied, "it works." He slipped the ring off. "Because I must be insane for doing this." He took Fran's hand and placed the ring in the palm, closing the child's fingers around it. "It's yours now. Don't lose it."

Fran raised his hand shakily to stare at the three sixes etched into the surface. "I'll try not to."

"And...Fran?" The boy glanced up at him with barely concealed fear in his eyes and a small part of Mammon wanted to take the ring back to save the boy from the hardships that would follow, the responsibility he had just all-but thrown at the child; but he knew that he couldn't. For reasons that Mammon would never be able to fathom, it had to be this kid. It had to be Fran.

"Yes, sensei?"

He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain as his vision began to grow dark around the edges. For a moment, Mammon's vision blurred and he once again saw himself at that same age. He almost wished he could have seen Belphegor again, but at the same time, he was glad that he wouldn't.

(Friends make you weak,) he thought to himself. (Look what happened to Colonello....and Reborn....and me....) He took another deep breath. "Take care of him, please."

He didn't have to say who "him" was, Mammon could tell by the look in the boy's eyes that Fran understood.

"I will," the child promised. "Even though he won't want me to."

Ten minutes later, when Belphegor finally broke in, he only had eyes for the body of one of his few "friends" lying peacefully on the bed except for the gaping wound in his stomach that had finally stopped bleeding. He didn't notice the young boy sitting off to the side staring at something in his hands, or even when the boy brushed past him to exit the room, cradling a peculiar ring and a small violet box stained in blood.

He only had eyes for Mammon; he wouldn't notice Fran for a few more weeks.


End file.
